


Tell Me O Muse

by YukiYagari



Series: The Engdyssey [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, The Odyssey - Homer, Troy (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28766874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukiYagari/pseuds/YukiYagari
Summary: Odysseus, the ancient King and Hero, has been forced to wander the Earth for far longer than he ever wished to. Immortality is a long and lonely road. Until he visits a particularly cold grey shore and meets a man who reminds him that two immortals are never truly strangers to one another. That man is Arthur Kirkland.
Relationships: Arthur Kirkland/Odysseus
Series: The Engdyssey [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2109195
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Tell Me O Muse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Anti Uke Arthur Friends](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Anti+Uke+Arthur+Friends).



> Hello! I’ve been wanting to write about Odysseus in the modern age for quite some time now. The longer I wanted to write about him again, the stronger the urge to have him meet other fictional characters I thought he could click with became. I finally settled on Arthur Kirkland. Arthur has a great many things in common with Odysseus, so much so that I’ve decided Arthur will have Odysseus’ role in a future UkUs Trojan War AU I’m writing. More importantly, I love both of these men dearly. This was meant to be a short drabble, but it quickly exploded into something grander. This drabble also contains a dynamic that wasn’t originally planned, but my friends are all aboard the idea...so here we are! Please be kind and leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed it! And if you might like more interactions between these two...just let me know!

It was those words that started and ended everything. Those words, his ever-lasting glory and thus his ever-lasting life, printed in a language he never should have heard on a shore he never should have reached. But he had heard, and spoken, and read this language many times before. He had been to these grey shores that hid the verdant beauty of this island nation before. He had been everywhere before. He had heard every language and spoke many of them. He had done everything men are wont to do, and none of it sparked joy within his heart. He had lived dozens upon dozens of lifetimes, yet those words never allowed him to meet the embrace of Thanos. 

Poor much-suffering Odysseus traversing a world he had no desire to understand or be a part of, along with those who couldn’t understand it despite having created it. The irony made him laugh aloud on occasion, those around him perturbed by his apparent madness. If only his supposed madness had been more convincing all those years ago…maybe then his story could have been lost to the ages…

It was those words, his story, haunting him yet again that prompted him to guffaw loudly to himself once more. In a tavern--called a ‘pub’ on these shores and in this time--such behavior was acceptable. After all, the spirits came forth freely in this place. 

He raised his glass to his lips. The wine was good. Very good. But it didn’t taste like home. Nothing he tasted would ever again remind him of Ithaca. His home was gone. His own language had morphed and changed. Even those who spoke what they now called “ancient Greek” didn’t sound the same as his people. Temples he had worshipped in, his palace, cities the largest the world had ever known all laid in ruins.

Relics of a bygone era…

Even he was nothing more than a myth. Yet he breathed, and ate, slept, and walked with no purpose. Everything he had fought for and lived for had turned to dust. Everyone he loved had left him behind on the wrong side of the River Styx. So, he remained. The glory that had been granted to him was his damnation. 

“It is the wine that leads me on, the wild wine that sets the wisest man to sing at the top of his lungs, laugh like a fool--it drives the man to dancing...it even tempts him to blurt out stories better never told…”

“From the Odyssey,” the girl from behind the bar smiled. “We have our own antique printing press here, you know? We each got to pick one literary quote to print and hang up ‘round the pub. That one was mine.”

He swallowed the rest of his wine swiftly along with his bitter resentment that she was one of many who kept him trapped in this life he had no wish to lead. He set his empty glass down pointedly. The wine was warm down his throat and in his stomach, but not nearly enough for Dionysus to grant him reprieve from his musings. Instead, he simply demanded, “Why that one?” 

“Odysseus is my favorite hero,” she said happily. 

“Oh?” he replied dryly. He placed the appropriate amount of paper money on the counter, longing for when real money was used. Gold or silver, the weight of it comforting in the hand or pocket. The finality of it. Paper money felt worthless to him, so easily destroyed with flames much the way he wished his legend had been. He met the girl’s gaze, his stare hard and unwavering. “He’s no hero. He’s nothing but a liar.”

He waited for a reaction, a cruel game to play. One at both their expenses. The one she gave was not the one he had anticipated. She shrugged her shoulders as if his words were of little consequence. “He survived. I’ll always admire him for that. He reminds me that I can too.”

He stayed silent as he left her and the pub behind. The ache in his chest her words awakened was harder to part with. The sun was setting as he walked, the breeze from the sea frigid. While the people native to this land wore heavy coats and scarves, he wore only light clothing. The cold running across his skin, numbing his hands, burning his eyes, and chilling the tip of his nose were an equal torment and respite. The pain of this shore’s cold numbed him to his misery at last, quieting the longing that would never be fulfilled. 

He found himself heeding the call of the sea without thought. He lowered himself down from the wooden pier to the smooth stones beneath. The stones and their reassuring clacks against one another with each step soon gave way to dull colored sand. The sand was soft and giving, the uneven surface stirring up pain from an old wound he’d received during one of his many adventures. His scars were one of the few vestiges of the former life he had been proud to call his own.

He looked at the sun painting the sea and sky with warm rosy hues, heaven and earth meeting for the briefest of lover’s caresses, before Mighty Helios drove his chariot behind the horizon. 

Not even the Gods would answer his prayers now. They were no more, just like how the gods of this era were waning. 

Salty tears ran down his cheeks. How many times had he looked at the sea longing to return home? All his perils had been endurable in order to see his wife and son again…  _ No one _ was waiting for him on distant shores anymore. At least, not of this world. And the vastness of eternity in such an existence was suffocating. 

Every shore of this world was the same. Empty. He always wandered, never finding what he sought. Once his hope for  **_anything_ ** had departed like the morning mist, he realized that he was just as empty inside. 

He knew the memory of who he was. Every word of his story had been examined time and time again. But he couldn’t claim to know who he was  _ now… _

Could he still call himself Odysseus King of Ithaca if his kingdom no longer existed? Could he call himself a husband or a father if his beloved and all their descendants lay quietly slumbering in the Underworld? Could he even call himself a hero when those around him held an entirely different idea of what a hero was? Could he even call himself a living man if he already felt dead? 

The dipping sun and the sweet breath of the ocean made him weep all the more for their beauty and the sorrow that consumed his heart. He pressed his palms to his eyes, certain that he had shed enough tears throughout his existence to fill the ocean. A fitting offering to Poseidon…

He approached the lapping waves, unconcerned that his shoes and jeans grew soaking wet or that his feet were so cold he couldn’t feel them any longer. HIs light shirt offered no protection from the chill. He could hear the raucous laughter of his long dead friends, his brothers on the battlefield.

_ ‘I think he’s headed for home with or without a ship!’ _

Once voice in particular rose above all the others in his memory. A dear friend with golden hair and eyes the color of the sky. The Best of All Greeks. The best of them that  **_Odysseus_ ** had taught how to be a man--

There was a soft thud and rustle of stones as another jumped off the pier to join him. For the briefest moment Odysseus hoped it was someone cherished in his heart to come and take him to the Land of Death with them. But he knew better. Cunning had always been his greatest gift, however. So, perhaps this stranger could be goaded into letting him meet the boatman…

“Hey,” he called softly, not bothering to turn around, “You can have everything in my pockets if you drown me. Just leave a couple of coins on my eyes?” His smile was acidic, his laugh venomous. 

There was an audible sigh, and the voice grew steadily louder as the other casually approached him. “Sorry, mate. She’ll never let me.”

It wasn’t the words themselves that stole his breath, it was the other man’s  _ voice _ \--something in the understated benevolent power within it. That voice warmed him with its kindness and the undercurrent of mirth. The depth of it was attractive yet soothing. The way the words rolled off his tongue were somehow melodic. He’d heard this language and accent before, but he had never paid such attention to either. He glanced over his shoulder, then Odysseus quickly spun around, and took an involuntary step back farther into the sea lashing as his calves. If the Gods still spoke to him, he would have been sure this man was one of them. 

He was beautiful. His eyes were the same rich green as the lush vegetation of his land. Bright and clear, devious and crafty yet somber. The faintest hint of fine lines and dark circles exemplified the exhaustion of a man who had seen too much of the world to still be in awe over it. Odysseus understood that feeling very well. He  _ appeared _ to only be about ten years younger than Odysseus  _ if that _ , and his face certainly had a mature handsomeness to it. His hair was golden, the breeze playing with the strands as though invisible fingers carded through it. His brows were thick and expressive. His smile was sly yet genuine. He stood tall and proud, though with an air of casual confidence that let his posture appear exceedingly amicable. He was well dressed, though the dark hues and glimmer of silver piercings on his ears betrayed something unrefined about him. He moved uncaringly through the slick sand in what looked like heavy and expensive boots. 

The other man soon stood right before him, reaching out to grab his arm and pull him out of the water's reach. “You’ll catch your death standing there dressed like that.”

He looked into Odysseus’ eyes as if he were reading the pages of a book, and even though he knew better than to expect anything...a resounding pang of despair hit his chest. Somewhere deep in his heart, he’d hoped that this man truly was different from all the others. But Odysseus was nothing more than a good story, no matter the toll it took on him. It seemed as though that was all the other man--or god--saw as well. And despite his yearning to tell the other man to leave him be, the customs of his old life were still firmly a part of him. He had learned the hard way to never offend the Gods. 

He looked over the man before him, whose large brows rose fractionally as did the corner of his lips as though waiting for Odysseus to pass a judgement on what he saw. Odysseus swallowed visibly before asking, “Are you a god?”

The other man blinked slowly, a lazy smile on his lips. “No. I’m Arthur Kirkland. And you? What’s the name of the man who asked me to drown him, hmm?”

His eyes stung at the question for he could only think of one truthful answer. He gave a breathless spiteful laugh. He blinked fresh tears from his eyes, stood to his full height like he had done when he was King and something like a hero, and proclaimed, “I’m Nobody. Nobody is my name.”

“Said cunning Odysseus to Polyphemus the cyclops,” Arthur replied languidly, his eyes glistening and his smile a little too sharp as he stepped even closer. 

Odysseus froze under that mischievously perceptive gaze. Did this man _know_? Most days Odysseus could say his name with a multitude of people having no clue the meaning behind it. Those who were familiar with the name thought he was named _after_ the ancient hero, never imagining for a moment that he _was_ **_Odysseus_**. But **_Arthur_** … He _knew…_ He saw the truth of who stood before him, and there was exhilaration in his eyes at beholding the ancient King. Odysseus, for once, found himself at a loss for words. 

“What’s the matter?” Arthur asked, his tone playful yet reassuring as he reached up to brush away the moisture from Odysseus’ face. His hands were terribly cold, but his touch was gentle. “Are you afraid I’m going to eat you?”

Odysseus smacked his hand away harshly, his chest tight as he dragged in unsteady breaths. A myriad of possibilities, both wonderful and horrible, flitted about his mind as he contemplated the ramifications of someone knowing who he truly was. Arthur appeared to take no offense to Odysseus’ rebuff, instead he fixed him with a patient stare. All his fears were confirmed when Arthur spoke again, “Odysseus, you don’t need to worry. You’re welcome and safe here. A kingdom always recognizes a King, even if he’s not their own.” 

“Enough!” Odysseus barked, “Stop talking in riddles and speak plainly!” His face and neck instantly heated as he uttered the words that had been shouted his direction countless times. He dropped his gaze to Arthur’s sand sullied boots, chagrined for having shown such a lack of decorum at the tables having been turned...finally. He almost smiled at how Arthur reminded him of  **_himself_ ** when he’d been young. 

Arthur remained unphased by his outburst, merely shrugged his shoulders and said sympathetically, “I thought you might have appreciated a good riddle.”

Odysseus looked back up at him and said somberly, “Just tell me who you are...please…”

“My name is Arthur Kirkland,” Arthur repeated, “But I am also called England or Britain. I told you the truth when I said I'm not a god. I’m the  _ land  _ of England, but I’m also the  _ people  _ of this land. Do you understand?” 

Odysseus closed his eyes and nodded. He then sank to his knees and wept behind his hands as the reality of those words engulfed him. His culture had believed in the personification of various lands and their people, one living being that was an immortal representation of both. Odysseus had heard such stories passed down from his ancestors about these beings, those who walked alongside the nymphs and the Gods themselves. Odysseus had never met any of the Lands, not even in the days when the Gods visited mankind often. He had never met Arthur or any others like him...but they still  _ existed _ . They had survived the long passage of time the same as him. If the embodiments of land could still survive... who was to say that Athena wasn’t still listening to his prayers? Perhaps he had not been completely abandoned to roam this new world alone forever. Perhaps Fate had looked down upon him favorably and guided him to this being. To Arthur. 

Arthur dropped down to his knees along with him, placing his hands on Odysseus’ upper arms giving them a light reassuring squeeze. Odysseus didn’t have it in him to push him away again. Arthur then lightly wrapped his arms around his shoulders, his fingers tangling in Odysseus’ curls. Arthur's hands were still cold and his voice was still warm as he so willingly comforted a man who was not his king. He smelled good, Odysseus noticed lazily. He smelt like tobacco, and the sea, sweet like the rain, intense and heady like the damp moss and soil of his land. He smelled like a mortal man, like a soldier, like a lover, a father or son. His voice, smell, and touch all things Odysseus should never have lived long enough to experience. He found himself grateful that he had. He pressed his forehead to the warmth of Arthur’s chest as the other man muttered soft comforting words, perfectly at ease holding him close despite having just met. 

Though immortals were never truly strangers to one another…

“You… You’re Britannia then?” Odysseus asked, his voice muffled slightly. A plethora of questions plagued him, but that one managed to slip out first. 

“No,” Arthur laughed softly, his tone radiating warmth for he spoke with love, “Britannia was my mother. She began to fade when I was very small. I only have a handful of memories of her. When Rome finally left my land, I couldn’t find her anymore…” 

Odysseus lifted his head cautiously so as not to knock Arthur’s chin as he straightened. But his face remained close to Arthur’s, and he could see everything left unsaid in those green eyes. That Arthur loved his mother. Arthur missed his mother. Along with something much darker. A feeling that Odysseus understood with every fiber of his being. 

He ventured cautiously, unwilling to stoke the flames of Arthur’s upset while hiding his own rancour, “Rome was one of you as well?”

“Yes,” Arthur replied tersely, flicking his gaze to the side. His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze wandering the terrain under the pier as if doing so would allow him to evade memories of the ancient Empire. Odysseus had, of course, existed during Rome’s rise and fall. He knew the history because he had lived through it... but it was much more personal for Arthur, it seemed. 

“Rome hated me,” Odysseus said softly, unsure of how yet very much wanting to comfort Arthur. 

It worked well enough. For Arthur grinned softly, meeting his gaze once more. He leaned even closer to Odysseus, whispering as if sharing a secret, “I hated him. I used to drive him mad by admiring you so much. Because I did...I _ do _ …”

“Is that why so many of your people love to play Greeks or Romans in films?” Odysseus asked teasingly, a barely there smile on his lips. But it was the first real smile he had given since he couldn't  _ remember _ when. His near instinctual wrath that those who praised him and kept him trapped in this existence nowhere to be found with this man. 

Arthur chuckled, his own grin turning more genuine. “Perhaps…”

Odysseus' expression quickly sombered. He steeled himself, preparing to discover what he feared to know. “So of your ancestors there was Britannia and Rome. What of Greece?” 

Arthur sighed softly, moving one of his hands from messing with Odysseus’ curls at the nape of his neck to tenderly stroking a thumb along his jawline. “Ancient Greece was said to be as beautiful as one of your goddesses,” Arthur explained, his brows drawing together in remorse as Odysseus nodded mournfully in understanding. “She faded a long time ago as well… But I know her son. He’s different from his mother, but he’s still  _ Greece _ . He’s a good man. And he’ll be so thrilled to see you Odysseus, I promise. He’ll love you, and he’ll honor you just as his mother would have…”

Odysseus continued to nod, his eyes blurring with sorrowful tears once more. It was the answer he’d expected, but it wounded his heart all the same. He hadn’t truly believed that Greece as he’d known it, or  _ her _ , still lived. He had been wandering the world and watching his former life fall apart for far too long to believe in that. There was a fresh sense of loss at the confirmation, though hope rekindled itself. His existence had been nothing but a torment for eons because he had been  **_alone_ ** in a world he didn’t care to understand. But if Odysseus could be with Greece himself...then maybe eternity wouldn’t be such a heavy burden…

He remained silent for a long moment, too overwhelmed to speak. For all his anguish, elation, and disbelief at how Tyche must have brought them together, Odysseus was suddenly struck with the realization that he didn’t  _ want  _ to go anywhere else… There were still so many things he wanted to ask. There were so many things he wanted to learn and see about Arthur’s kind. Not just his kind, but Arthur. He didn’t want to leave  _ this  _ man just yet. It had been  _ thousands  _ of years since he’d felt such a way. Back when his wife was young with their newborn son cradled in her arms. All his wanderings and the hollow unhappiness they brought him began to settle into the past where they belonged. Yet he had spent so much of his existence yearning to be somewhere else and with someone else, that freedom from such a miserable ache left him... **_lost_ ** . 

Odysseus realized he must have been wearing his emotions plainly enough for Arthur to see and fret over. His breathing shallowed as Arthur bumped their foreheads together, and the intensity of those green eyes almost made him blurt out that the Elysian fields would pale in comparison to them. As intense and dizzying as Arthur’s gaze was, he didn’t want to look anywhere else. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered earnestly in response to Odysseus’ silence, “I’m so sorry. I’ve felt you in my land before. You feel...  _ similar  _ to my kind but not the same. I kept looking for you, but I couldn’t  _ find  _ you that time…” Guilt tinged Arthur’s voice, and Odysseus reached up to cup that handsome face in turn, his own war-roughened touch reverent. 

“Why say sorry for something that’s not your fault?” he pressed gently, his weary soul regaining a strength nearly forgotten to him, “I don’t care how long it took for us to meet. I’m happy we did.” 

“...Me too,” Arthur murmured. His expression softened in relief. Odysseus’ heart leapt into his throat when Arthur canted his head, ever so slightly leaning into his touch. 

Odysseus gulped quietly, praying that Arthur didn't notice before he hesitantly moved his lips closer to the other man's. He could feel rather than hear Arthur suck in a short breath. His lips barely brushed against the Englishman's, warm breaths mingling. It wasn't a proper kiss but an  _ invitation  _ and a test to see if either one of them wanted to back down. Their grips on each other tightened as they repeated the tantalizing nearly-there kiss, pulling each other closer as they waited for the other man to initiate what they both clearly desired. 

Odysseus opened his mouth in a hiss as Arthur's fingers suddenly pulled roughly on his curls. His own hands delved into golden locks or gripped the soft leather of Arthur’s jacket. The cautious yet burning tension between them finally snapped. Their mouths came together in such a passionate clash of lips and tongue there was an accidental knocking of teeth. Odysseus didn't care, and neither did Arthur. One of them let out something like a chuckle before the ability to think was wiped away. The Englishman moved one hand down to Odysseus’ hip, encouraging him to ‘stand’ on his knees, their upper bodies pressing against one another. 

Arthur's kiss left Odysseus more drunk than the finest ambrosia. Arthur understood the ebb and flow of passion perfectly. He knew when to pull Odysseus closer and when to allow himself to be drawn in. He slipped his tongue into Odysseus’ mouth, languidly exploring the taste of him before allowing Odysseus to do the same. Odysseus briefly wondered what he tasted like to Arthur. Arthur was familiar yet foreign. The flavor of his kiss put Odysseus at ease yet exhilarated him. It didn’t help that the way their clothes moved roughly against sensitive flesh was a perfect contradiction to soft warm skin beneath them. The heat of Arthur’s form pressed against his own, of Arthur’s lips and tongue, his breath against his cheek nearly scalded Odysseus. It was a rapturous kind of pain. Every fiber of his being begged for it not to end, his own need for a real lungful of air be damned. 

The yearning in Odysseus’ heart and his lower belly transcended mere lust or desire. He had been the lover of many beings more powerful than himself, both man and woman. He knew what it was to be kept as a captive lover, a pet, to nymphs more beautiful than any mortal. He knew what it was to serve them as a bedmate while his heart screamed out for his human wife. What he felt with Arthur wasn’t the same as when he had fallen into Calypso’s bed. It didn't feel the same as when he had bedded any other immortal. Because it didn’t  **_matter_ ** that Arthur was an embodiment of the Land. It didn't even matter that Arthur was another man. 

Their embrace on that cold beach was the union of two equals. There was no clamour for any sense of power or dominance. The tension between a younger and older man simply wasn’t there between them. No need for one of the Lands to establish his status over an ancient King or vice versa. No need to submit to one another, for the other man’s power was of no threat. They eagerly explored one another, reveling in the familiarity--the immediate  _ understanding _ \--of a kindred spirit. Despite their differing stories, there was an intuitive knowing that the other man was more similar than he was different. The ever present sting of loneliness and the burden of suffering in silence finally eased. If Odysseus hadn't been so distracted by the deep hum of approval Arthur let out and his own answering groan, he might have had to choke back another sob. One of gratitude. Instead, Odysseus' heart sang in amorous celebration at finding someone equally matched to bring an end to his isolation.

He wanted to keep his lips against Arthur's for as long as he could. To learn everything the other man liked. Show him how grateful he was to have been found after drifting through oceans of time by himself. From the way Arthur kissed him and held onto him, it appeared as though Odysseus’ gratitude would have been very eagerly received. 

Arthur’s lungs must have been screaming for air as well, for they both parted only enough to let each other drag in a much needed breath. They pressed their foreheads together once more, refusing to let each other pull back any further. Odysseus wondered if Arthur’s head was spinning. His certainly was. A faint tremor ran through Arthur’s shoulders, and he let out a shaky breath that was almost a chuckle. Arthur licked his bottom lip slowly with a lazy satisfied smirk. He watched Arthur’s adam's-apple bob as he swallowed thickly, those richly colored eyes shining with a dangerous sort of lust. It made Odysseus shake in turn. Granted, he had been shaking for a while, and it wasn’t just the cold making him do so. Arthur’s hands squeezing his hips, running up and down his back, mapping what he could of Odysseus’ body beneath his clothes weren’t helping matters. He instinctively leaned forward, licking at Arthur’s bottom lip. Arthur pressed a light peck onto his mouth before nipping at him, and he reminded Odysseus of a lion fussing over his mate. Odysseus smiled in turn, and he sighed happily at Arthur’s thumb running along his jawline once more. 

“Stay with me tonight. I can’t remember how you used to say ‘hospitality’ in Greek, but let me give you a proper welcome and stay in my country,” Arthur said warmly. Arthur wasn’t exactly asking, and he had no qualms with that. His desire to stay close to the other man wasn’t about to let him refuse.

“It’s xenia,” Odysseus said. He wouldn’t have imagined Arthur knew anything about such an old custom. When guests, even complete strangers, were considered friends. Eagerly welcomed into a home no matter how small and humble it was, with every courtesy offered to them. Odysseus had given and received it on numerous occasions. But it had been a long time since it had been offered to him, and longer still since he was so eager to accept. He nodded, unable to contain a smile. “And I’d like that very much.”

“Yeah? Good,” Arthur said softly, biting his lip to hide his grin before finally standing. It was obvious he was used to the cold of his own land, the frigid sea breeze not impeding his movements too much. His left knee gave an audible crack, however, and Arthur almost winced. Odysseus then belatedly wondered if Arthur carried any physical scars of his own. The thought was quickly forgotten as Arthur offered a hand to him. He readily accepted, for his own joints were unpleasantly stiff. He let out a soft grunt of disapproval as he rose, and Arthur gave a soft sympathetic laugh. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

Arthur continued to hold onto his hand as he turned and took a step towards the pier. He was brought to a halt when Odysseus didn’t move. Arthur looked at him confused, rubbing his thumb over the back of Odysseus’ hand. It was such a small gesture, but it still made Odysseus’ face heat. He bit the inside of his cheek for a moment. He then looked at Arthur and cleared his throat. His voice sounded far more steadfast than his nerves actually were when he spoke. “Don’t you want to know the name of the man you’re inviting into your home?”

Arthur blinked, and his thick brows rose slightly. He broke out into a large smile as he moved to stand close to Odysseus once more. He looked so damn handsome with that joyful grin that it made Odysseus’ chest ache sweetly. Perhaps Arthur hadn’t expected Odysseus to actually say it. But how could he not? Didn’t Arthur deserve that from him at the very least? 

“I would very much like to know,” Arthur said eagerly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

Odysseus stood tall. His voice was proud as he said weighted words that had come perilously close to meaning _nothing_. But they _did_ mean something. They were him. They were who he was. They, along with the rest of his story, had brought him more torment than any man should ever have known. They had also finally brought him to _exactly_ where he needed and wanted to be. 

“My name is Odysseus, son of Laertes, King of Ithaca and the great glory of the Achaians.” Saying those words aloud to another immortal sent a thrill down Odysseus’ spine.

Arthur suddenly pulled Odysseus to him and kissed his cheek. Odysseus leaned into the touch of his lips the same as before. He recognized, somewhat chagrined, that he most likely always would if given the chance. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, wise King,” Arthur said formally. But that same cheeky glint remained in his eyes and smirk. It had never waivered once that evening, even when they had kissed each other breathless. Odysseus was glad, because he realized he already rather loved that about Arthur. 

Odysseus shook his head slightly at the playful tone along with the underlying seriousness of Arthur’s words. He replied simply, “The honor is mine.”

Arthur chuckled smoothly, turning once more towards the pier. Odysseus followed him without protest. He let his gaze wander down Arthur’s back. It gave him the opportunity to notice completely new things about Arthur. He loved the subtle broadness to his shoulders, how long his legs were, even how pleasant his rear end looked in those dark jeans. He quickly averted his gaze when Arthur turned around once they’d reached one of the large wooden pillars supporting the walkway above them. Arthur ran his own gaze along Odysseus’ form, returning the appreciative stare unrepentantly. It made Odysseus’ chest swell pridefully.

“Just a tick, eh?” Arthur said abruptly. 

Odysseus was about to question him as Arthur let go of his hand. He remained silent however, as Arthur backed away a few paces, and took a short running jump to grab hold of the pier’s ledge. After letting his feet swing for a moment, Arthur slowly but surely pulled himself up using nothing but the strength of his arms. Once he had raised himself so his hips were at the level of the wooden walkway, he leaned forward slightly, giving himself enough balance and purchase to rather gracefully turn around and take a seat on the pier. Odysseus appreciated the view more than he would have imagined. Arthur was tall and on the leaner side. But Odysseus had felt the well defined muscles under Arthur’s clothes. He tried to ignore the fact that he would love to see those same muscles tense and flex without the hindrance of clothing. The nature of Arthur’s frame hid the wiry strength the other man possessed, and Odysseus had always appreciated a man who had a few good tricks up his sleeves. Arthur’s overall physicality was one of them. 

Odysseus had known all manner of men. From the weak and scrawny who knew they couldn’t stand up to a stronger man, to loud mouths who often regretted their own bravado, to those who only knew how to use their physical strength to get what they wanted. Arthur was the kind of man Odysseus had always respected most. He showed others his confidence in the most subtle ways. Arthur didn’t have to yell about his strength, it was simply a part of him. Something lurking to back up all that his body language said about him. It was there when he needed it, but he didn’t brandish it without provocation. He had a sudden inkling that Arthur relished it when others underestimated him. Odysseus would not make that mistake. 

“Alright then. Up you come!” He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when Arthur called down to him, leaning over slightly. Arthur’s left arm was looped around the wooden pillar next to him for support while he held out the opposite hand for Odysseus to grab onto. 

The notion that he was  _ far  _ too old for this briefly crossed Odysseus’ mind. He sighed to himself, but that little smirk on Arthur’s face made him smile in turn. Odysseus then focused on forcing his stiff muscles to cooperate and jump high enough to clasp onto Arthur’s outstretched hand. 

Arthur let out a soft grunt as he held onto Odysseus’ full weight with only one hand. He was glad Arthur had remembered to brace himself, otherwise they  _ both  _ would have tumbled back down to the smooth stones. Arthur’s ass actually rose off the surface of the pier for a moment, that being the only real sign of any strain on his part, as he clutched the pillar and pulled Odysseus higher from the ground. Odysseus was once again in awe of how much quiet strength and power Arthur possessed. He grasped onto the pier once it was in reach, and let out his own soft noise of exertion as he slowly maneuvered to sit beside Arthur. Both of them looked at the vast expanse of ocean before them, not quite ready for the laborious task of standing after pulling each other up onto the rough wood.

“Arthur, how did you know who I am?” Odysseus asked, somewhat ashamed at how difficult it was to catch his breath. As the last vestiges of sunlight faded rapidly, the sea breeze grew cold enough to render every breath painful.

“When you were here last time, I  _ didn’t _ know who you were. Still didn’t even know tonight, not until she told me,” Arthur explained, panting softly as well. He looked at Odysseus, who wore a blatantly bewildered expression.

“She? Who do you mean?” he asked. It wasn’t the first time Arthur had mentioned a woman that evening. However, Odysseus couldn’t see any women around them. He had no clue who Arthur was talking about. A spark of excitement lighted within him. Was ‘she’ someone that Odysseus knew as well? A goddess perhaps? Had she led Arthur to him? 

Arthur canted his head in the direction of the sea. Odysseus returned his eyes to the lapping waves, and Arthur wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The sudden contact was warm, and the weight of Arthur's touch was reassuring. The Englishman leaned forward to brush his nose against Odysseus’ cheek before moving his lips to his ear. Arthur’s breath was warm. His voice was warmer still, rich and smooth. Odysseus swallowed dryly at the nearly seductive tone. It took him a long moment to fully comprehend what Arthur had actually said. His new companion was  _ exceptionally  _ skilled at encouraging Odysseus’ mind to wander to all kinds of deliciously inappropriate scenarios, and it had been centuries since anyone had even made him feel anything  _ close _ to this--

“Can you see her?” Arthur whispered, and Odysseus didn't miss the eagerness and excitement in his voice. 

He searched as much of the shoreline as they could see from their precarious perch. He saw no woman on the sandy shore. The only footprints were their own. He could feel Arthur’s stare on him still as he looked. He could feel hope radiating off the other man. Odysseus sighed through his nose. He was about to shake his head and confess that he saw nothing, when a strange movement caught his eye at last. He jolted backwards harshly as his heart leapt into his throat. Arthur tightened his grip on his shoulders, shushing him gently. Odysseus let out an unsteady breath, putting a hand on his chest to steady himself.

A few meters from where the water’s edge caressed the grey shore was the figure of a woman. Her feet and ankles hidden by the sea water, for she  _ was  _ the sea water. She was translucent yet retained an aquamarine hue, same as the rest of the waves that were clearly her domain. The details of her silhouette were so defined despite the decreasing light. Her hair appeared long and thick as she swept it over her shoulders, soaking wet with a few errant bits of seaweed adorning it. Her face beheld an ethereal beauty, her eyes were the same as the rest of her form. They were clear, but she still managed to fully express human sentience and emotion through them. They were stunning.  _ She  _ was stunning. He could see the supple curves of her breasts and hips, even the bare apex of her thighs, and he had no doubt that her body must have tempted plenty of men throughout the ages.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Arthur murmured.

“Yes,” Odysseus whispered, nodding slightly. Arthur breathed out a relieved chuckle. He kissed Odysseus’ cheek repeatedly as if thanking him. Odysseus wanted to question Arthur’s reaction...but his mind was racing with fear.

Odysseus was no stranger to the divine and monstrous creatures of the sea. He had believed that they had faded the same as the other gods. His aversion to the sea itself had morphed into a yearning throughout his existence. It allowed him some semblance of escape, even if his wanderings had only caused him more pain. It had been his certainty that the great Posiedon was  _ not  _ lurking in the shadowy depths that had granted him the peace of mind to travel by sea. His confidence, his foolish  _ pride _ , about traversing the seas was brought to a swift end. He was no stranger to sea nymphs either, and this one knew his name. If her kind, and the Lands like Arthur still existed...then perhaps Poseiden still lurked beneath the lapping waves along with  _ all  _ his hate for Odysseus.

The Gods were fickle, and they were not quick to forgive. Odysseus wasn’t about to underestimate their wrath even now. He had lived thousands of years longer than any man should have...but the Gods, if they still did truly exist, would long outlast him. If Poseiden still ruled the sea, there was no escape for him. He didn’t fear death, most of his existence was spent yearning for it. But the gods did not grant swift deaths to those they hated. Their punishments were far crueler than death.  _ That  _ was what he feared most.

Odysseus ran a hand down his face, dread making him feel ill and tremble slightly. He fought to keep his voice steady when he asked, “Is she one of Poseidon’s daughters... or a mistress?”

“I should bloody well hope not!” Arthur blurted haughtily. Odysseus snapped his gaze back to Arthur at the unexpected outburst. Arthur cleared his throat quietly and shrugged his shoulders a little. He then looked to the side furtively as he muttered, “She’s  _ my  _ mistress. I am an island nation, after all...Can’t help meself.”

Odysseus gawked at him with a blank expression. Arthur had a sea nymph for a lover? It appeared they had  _ more  _ in common than he could have possibly imagined. The thought  _ exhilarated  _ him. Clearly, she was the one who had helped Arthur find him. She had helped two kindred spirits come together. Odysseus would always be indebted to her for that. She was not who he worried about. Whoever or whatever else resided in those waters alongside him did... 

“Hey,” Arthur murmured, those glittering green eyes looking at nothing but  _ him  _ once more. The arm around Odysseus’ shoulders pulled him closer still, close enough for their lips to brush once more. Arthur’s other hand landed on his thigh and rubbed gently. It became exceptionally difficult for Odysseus to think of much else, his attention solely on the other man. “Don’t fret,” Arthur continued, “Nothing will happen to you here. You’re safe with me, I promise.”

Arthur suddenly kissed him again, and all the remaining thoughts in Odysseus’ mind vanished. All he could focus on was the warmth of Arthur’s lips, that intoxicating taste, and how his head was spinning once more. Arthur briefly slipped his tongue into his mouth again, a soft moan pouring forth. Odysseus brought a hand to Arthur’s golden hair, encouraging him to remain in the kiss a little longer. Arthur was happy to oblige. He kissed Odysseus until the ancient King’s worries were no more. Arthur’s soft groans, the way his hands caressed him, and the unevenness of his breath, let Odysseus know that Arthur kissed him for his own pleasure as well. Odysseus took great pride in prompting such a reaction from Arthur the second time their lips met.

Their second kiss did nothing to dispel the quiet lust that had been sparked by their first. When their eyes met, there was something akin to an unspoken promise of ‘later’. The pier was not exactly the place to continue such amorous ventures. Arthur stole one last peck from his lips, brushing the tip of his nose against Odysseus’ causing the older man to chuckle. Arthur grinned and laughed in turn before pulling back slightly. 

“No one will hurt you while I’m around,” he promised Odysseus sincerely, “So come on, old boy. Time to go.” He withdrew his arm from Odysseus’ shoulders before clapping him on the back.

Arthur rose to his feet, and Odysseus laughed at his expense for the faint protesting grumbles he let out at the endeavor. Perhaps the cold was starting to affect him too. Arthur shot him a soft-hearted glare, before grabbing his arm and urging him up. Odysseus was slower in getting to his feet, his body aching and exhausted. It was Arthur’s turn to laugh at him for being such an old man. Odysseus rolled his eyes as he followed Arthur along the length of the pier. Back towards the lights, noise, and unfamiliarity of a world he didn’t wish to understand. It was easier to face as Arthur paused his leisurely pace to reach out and take his hand once more. 

They walked in a long amicable silence. Odysseus finally broke it with a simple, “Arthur, thank you. For all of this.”

Arthur's demeanor turned surprisingly flustered at the simple but heartfelt sentiment. Arthur bit the inside of his lip, shrugged his shoulders in what was supposed to be a nonchalant manner, but his cheeks were ever so slightly flushed. Odysseus decided he liked that expression on Arthur’s handsome face very much, almost as much as his playful smiles. Because he also looked incredibly and genuinely happy. Arthur squeezed his hand and replied earnestly, “No need to thank me, my friend. I’m glad I can help.”

“There’s so many things I want to ask you,” Odysseus sighed softly. While they enjoyed each other’s presence in silence, it was obvious to the both of them that there was so much they wanted to say. Arthur looked him in the eye again.

“Well, we have plenty of time,” Arthur teased gently, his sharp grin and devious glimmer to his eyes firmly back in place, “And I think we’ve both got plenty stories to tell.”

\--Story End--


End file.
